Back in the ’30s my young friends and I would gather on my grandmother’s back porch on High Street in South Portland’s Ferry Village, because it was always baking day. Pies, cakes, cookies, biscuits and bread for the usual large family of that earlier era were the order of the day. My grandmother, who we all called “Mrs. Willard,” thoroughly engulfed herself both in her craft and in her big apron, usually covered from head to toe with flour.
On one particular September Saturday, Mrs. Willard looked out the window, shouted, “Get out!” and bolted down the stairs and into her backyard, swinging her huge broom. To say the least, her abrupt, erratic behavior startled us boys. Turning around to see what had caused her concern, we were amazed to see a huge bull moose nonchalantly munching apples from one of her favorite fruit trees.
Well now, I want to tell you that was a sight to behold – a chubby little old grandmotherly lady, just beating away on a 7-foot-tall, half-ton moose. Screaming and swinging her trusty broom, she was way too much for that poor old moose. Like a runaway freight train, he swept out of Mrs. Willard’s apple orchard with the Missus right behind him, laying that broom onto his ample rump. He broke for the street as my gang and I took up the chase.
Fortunately, the moose headed toward Portland Harbor and lumbered onto the old railway wharf. By now there was a sizable crowd of hootin’ and yelling kids at his heels. Well, the next thing we knew the huge animal suddenly plunged right off the very end of the wharf! He started swimming off shore – I guessed to avoid the gathering crowd on the neighboring beach and wharves.
About that time a couple of local characters, the Peavey boys, entered the scene. It was Frank Peavey and his kid brother, pulling hard at the oars of a “borrowed” dory and traveling toward the swimming moose.
When they finally pulled abreast of our hero, Frank dropped his oars, sprang to the bow and quickly fashioned a loop in the bow line. Frank dropped the neatest throw right onto that moose’s rack. Talk about speed on the water – it was a sight to see.
This continued for a short while until Billy Goddard, our friendly village cop, strolled onto the beach. He looked over the situation, cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “Frank, cut that moose loose!”
Guess the boys had had about enough, for they immediately cut the rope and the tired moose waded ashore. Must have been about lunchtime, because I remember leaving all the excitement and returning home.
The story has a nice ending, though. Seems the moose was finally corralled in a fenced-in schoolyard near Willard Square. A couple of forest rangers showed up with a big truck and hauled our celebrity off to his home in the North Woods.
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